


falling at daybreak

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, High School, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-30 21:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You look like you were about to fall," says Gladiolus, his fingers fitted between the gaps.An easy hop off the low wall, bricked road under the sole of his shoes. Noctis' smile is cheeky, with a slight flash of teeth, as he swings their hands above their heads, pressing their shadows together."I don't have to worry about that," says Noctis to the cotton of his own sleeves.------a collection of pre-game GladNoct ficlets





	1. Chapter 1

His fingers traced stardust when he reaches out, towards Noctis' hands held high under a street lamp. Noctis looks at him – taller, from where he’s balancing on the edge of a flowerbed – head tilted, through his hair falling onto his face.

"You look like you were about to fall," says Gladiolus, his fingers fitted between the gaps.

An easy hop off the low wall, bricked road under the sole of his shoes. Noctis' smile is cheeky, with a slight flash of teeth, as he swings their hands above their heads, pressing their shadows together.

"I don't have to worry about that," says Noctis to the cotton of his own sleeves.

Gladiolus laughs, quiet behind whispers of white noise – faraway cars, footsteps, crickets in the bushes. He pulls his prince up a little higher, lifting him to his tiptoes. Noctis' forehead is warm against his; his too-short fringe pushed back and mussed.

"Yeah, you don't." Down, a breath past red-tinted cheeks, the creased fold of his shirt collar, the messy knot of Noctis' school tie.

Insomnia's autumn nights are coloured in muted orange, a puddle of leaves crinkling under their feet when they separate. Gladiolus curls his fingers under the handle of Noctis’ bag in his other hand and holds it together between them, hoping to hide a hitched breath at the lightest touch of their skin.

"Now let’s get you home," he says, around a small smile he doesn’t let Noctis see.


	2. Chapter 2

“Look at _you_ , lady killer!” Gladiolus whistles before hugging the back of his desk chair into a fit of cackles, swivelling away from Noctis swatting too-long sleeves at him.

“Shut up!” His face flushes red, fully realising that flapping his arms completely undermines his tone.

“Look,” Gladiolus tries to swallow his giggles, smiling into his sleeves as he rolls himself over back to where Noctis is. “You’ll grow into it, it’ll be an investment! Just– roll up your pants like ten times around the hips. Keep the sleeves, though. You’d have a better chance landing a blow on someone with that than with a sword.”

“Are you sure this is your first year’s gakuran?"  Noctis wrinkles his nose. The size difference between them at the same age is off-putting. He tries not to feel too jealous. There are merits to being small, after all! Surely Gladiolus couldn’t fit himself between corner shelves to sneak a nap.

"Yeah, and I like outgrew it in three months.”

“I hope you grow tall enough to hit your head against every single doorway in your life.”

Gladiolus shrugs by way of response. Noctis was the one who wanted to see how he looked in a middle school gakuran. It’s not his fault that the kid is drowning in a tangle of cotton drill. “I mean if you really want, I could size it down for you.” He adjusts Noctis’ collar, smooths down the shoulders, then pinches the excess fabric hanging at his armpits. “But might as well just get a new one, if it comes to that." 

Noctis squints at him, little wrinkles across the bridge of his nose. "You can sew?" 

"I had practice.” He thinks to all the little pin-pricks to the pads of his skin, hiding plaster-covered fingers, Iris tracing uneven stitches across the middle of a white bunny’s ear. “I can at least adjust the hemline or something." 

It’s quiet for a while, between them. Noctis looks like he’s trying to hide behind the black stand-up collar, the edge of the fabric grazing his cheeks. He brings a hand to his face, nuzzling the bumps of his sleeve-covered knuckles.

"I think…” He breathes, voice small and muffled, the tips of his ears tinted red.  "I think I’d like that.“


	3. Chapter 3

"Doesn't it hurt?" The ride back home, the smell of gauze in the space between, the air around them. 

"It hurts." Gladiolus laughs, against the glass where he leans his head against the car window. Passing streetlights, shadows playing across his face, disappearing over his shoulder. "It hurts like a bitch."

Noctis looks away, as the car stops at a light; a staccato between stray strands of Gladiolus' hair peeking from behind the bandages at his hairline, the dried darkened drips down his sleeve, to the soft drumming of the Amicitia family driver's gloved fingers on the steering wheel. He locks his knees together. He doesn't know how to breathe, scratching the back of his neck to the low, hollow inhale his feels at his chest. 

"But you know, I think I might not hate pain all that much."  _Not if it's for you_ , Noctis hears what Gladiolus doesn't say. His heart feels full, an ache that reaches his cheeks, tugging out a short snort of laughter.

"What the hell?" he says, hiding a smirk behind the back of his hand. He keeps his head down, scuffs the side of his shoes together where he can't really see, tips shoved under the passenger seat. "That's actually kind of hot."

"Pervert," Gladiolus replies easily, his voice kept light. 


	4. Chapter 4

"I guess Iris is still at school."

The afternoon sunshine spills from the open door onto his back, his shadows stretch across the wooden panels as he stumbles into the porch. Noctis flails his arms, tries to balance himself upright, the toe of his shoes caught against the raised floor.

Frozen forward, a sharp draw of breath, he steadies himself. Standing on tiptoes, his arms outstretched beside him. Gladiolus' footsteps echoes down the hallway and into the kitchen. He hears the cupboard open, glass clinking, the stuttered clicks of the gas stove.

"You okay with ginger ale? Not that you have a choice, though."

He doesn't answer – Gladiolus' voice sounds distant, almost, from the quiet the entryway. _Thirty-six-point-five,_ his voice lost in an exhale. His arms fall to his sides. He straightens his back, looks down and to his right. _Forty-two-point-five,_ upside-down in worn prints, on the inside sole of a pair of red basketball shoes.

 _Thirty-six-point-five,_ he toes his shoes off − light, weightlessー

ーsmall.

Black canvas shoes a centimetre off the ground, his fingers hooked under the top as he turns them to face the door.

Black canvas shoes lined next to red sneakers, six centimetres short of forty-two-point-five, toes not quite tip-to-tip.


End file.
